


Blessed Innocence

by Arithanas



Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
Genre: Fanart, Fencing, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, friendly ribbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 23:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4118415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The untouched purity of Raoul de Bragelonne has been a formidable armor so far, but Armand de Grammont, at his sixteen years, was too well versed in seduction to no seen that insurmountable obstacle as a challenge and nothing else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blessed Innocence

**Author's Note:**

> _To[Mordioux](http://mordioux.tumblr.com/), who won't take a no for an answer._
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> There may be underage sexual advances, mostly done by teenagers over the age of sixteen that are living on their own. Due to historical context, for the purpose of this fanfic, they should be seen as emancipated minors.

“Guiche, I’m begging you here…”

Raoul de Bragelonne’s voice, with that ingrained gravitas, caressed Armand de Grammont’s ears. With a heavy sigh, de Guiche put down his book and carried his free hand to his nape to improve his angle and cast his look to the world outside; Raoul was standing by the door, one hand on the pommel of his old-fashioned sword while his other hand was keeping away the flapping door by the eave of the tent both choose to share. Raoul’s moving entreaties finally managed to move his indolent companion; the boy smiled at his triumph and greeted the young man with a polite nod.

“How may I be of service, my dearest Bragelonne?” de Guiche inquired, his eyes wandering on the two lose points of that doublet.

“I repeat myself, just in case your reading was so absorbing, that I would like the pleasure of your company…”

“Anything that brings you pleasure, sir,” de Guiche agreed amicably and roll his body next to angle made by the wall and the roof, signaling the empty space on his campaign bed, “hop in and I see it done.”

“You are always jesting and quipping, sir,” Raoul shook his head in gentle disagreement.

“I had heard you, Raoul. Your heart aches for your home and needs some consolation,” de Guiche said, patting his bed, “come here, I’ll provide for it.”

“If you really heard me, please, grant me your company and your arm to the field next to the encampment, for exercise is what I need most at the present.”

De Guiche groaned and let his head down. Raoul and his unendurable mania for sword training were an annoyance and a diversion at the same time and it didn’t even matter how many times Raoul had explained him, in abundant and lavish details, why it was so important for him, Armand couldn’t understand the insane degree of discipline Raoul operated at.

“I beseech you, sir.”

Raoul’s pleading voice called him so sweetly and so meekly that it was hard to deny his friend the pleasure. De Guiche was about to ask his friend, again, in all politeness, with the kindest words to lay his ass in that camping bed but the tent’s door opened and d’Arminges entered the tent with some folded linens. Raoul bowed his head in polite greeting but de Guiche felt a bit violent, since the presence of his old tutor will cut Raoul’s begging short and there were little things that dispelled Armand’s ennui better.

“M. de Bragelonne, good day to you,” d’Arminges said with a smile, his fondness for Raoul was well known.

“Good day, d’Arminges,” Raoul replied with politics and his docile smile conveyed the pleasure of being acknowledged by his elders.

In the early days of their friendship, de Guiche suspected that smile was a ruse to get into the good graces of his superiors; his candor was disarming and, worse, completely genuine.

“M. de Bragelonne and me are going to have a friendly fencing practice,” de Guiche announced and got up from his campaign bed, his hand reached for the sword without thinking. “You have the tent for yourself.”

“A very befitting activity, sir,”d’Arminges agreed and his voice carried the concealed censure of the old Parisian days.

“Thank you, Guiche,” Raoul said and rushed out of the tent before his friend could change his mind.

“That young man is the best thing the Good Lord could throw your way, sir,” d’Arminges said, watching how his young master cinched his waist with the sword belt, “Please, try not to ruin him…”

“Pah! Bragelonne is immune to damnation,” de Guiche scoffed and headed toward the door, steeling his spirit against the midday sun, “even against my worst efforts.”

Those words raised suspicion on d’Arminges spirit and he rushed off the tent. His heart leapt into his chest as he saw the two young lords were heading away from the encampment, so many heartaches had instilled him the worst opinion of his unruly disciple. His eyes wandering around him, looking for a solution and the solution was there; stretch out on a bale of straw, Bragelonne’s servant was misusing his time, completely oblivious of the risk his master was incurring.

“You!”

“Me?” Olivain was not the kind of servant that appreciated a generic call.

“Yes, you!” d’Arminges had no time to spare with insolent servants. “Take some towels and water to your master, since he’s training and would like to refresh himself after such a strain.”

Olivain grunted and started to move in such a slow pace that, being his master a maiden, Bragelonne would have time to bear a son before the water arrives. D’Arminges groaned his impatience but that didn’t make the servant move any quicker, and noticing any effort in that regard would have the opposite effect he returned to the tent, blaming the lack of care of that boy’s tutor if anything went out of sorts.

“And he deserves anything that comes his way,” d’Arminges mumbled to himself, “you can’t toss such a virtuous youth to the world and hope no one preys on him.”

On the edge of the camp Raoul started to undo every point of his doublet, with such a natural carelessness that de Guiche found himself doing the same, of course it was completely natural to train fencing on their sleeves, that way they wouldn’t spoil their garments. The wind sang in the branches of the nearby trees and caressed their bodies and swathed the flimsy cotton to their chests, Raoul smiled and raised his pale face to the sun, tossing his hat away; Armand smiled at that country kid’s unbridled joy.

“Whenever you are ready, Bragelonne,” de Guiche said, his sword ready by his side.

Raoul let out his sword, made a formal salutation and took his measure before adopting the correct form and presenting himself in second. God bless his innocent head, he really meant to train… With a defeated sigh, de Guiche presented himself and readied himself for the assault, for Raoul has no patience and always lunged forth the first, a couple of thrusts were exchanged, a couple of feints were made before de Guiche launched himself in a series of vicious attacks that made Raoul went back to cover his ever weak sides amidst the sound of his laughter; fencing really made Raoul’s spirit soar.

“Oh, you know me so well!” Raoul said and hoped back without a glancing look to the side to ascertain his position.

Armand could see it coming without a way to stop it: Raoul was too close to the trees. The dull thud was louder than Raoul’s disconcerted whimper and Armand rushed by his side, ready to cradle that hurt head.

“Please, don’t fuss…” Raoul barely had time to say before a kind hand rubbed the spot. “I have a hard cranium, Grimaud always said so…”

“Hush,” de Guiche admonished, smiling at that giddy face, looking for a bump with his fingers but being distracted by the softness of that brown hair on which the sun danced and left some golden sparkles. “It’s all right…”

Raoul raised his eyes to his friend, his lips where quivering from shock and pain, and de Guiche bowed his head, unable to stop himself. Raoul’s lips were warm and supple, they received the caress with formidable facility and made little effort to resist, a circumstance that could be attribute to surprise, as the trembling blade of Bragelonne drew arcane signs on the Earth.

Art by [Mordioux](http://mordioux.tumblr.com/)

“Did I astound you, my dear Raoul?” de Guiche grinned and tasted Raoul’s breath on his mouth. “Haven’t you kissed another man before?”

“Sir, when I have kissed another man,” Raoul said, his sober voice never betrayed his shock and confusion, but the breath that fluttered from his heaving chest told another story that was very much more interesting and far more compelling, “when my lips touched another man’s skin, they never touched the lips and such caress was above any suspicion of blame...”

“And exactly what gave you the impression this caress…” de Guiche repeated the action, retaining his friend’s lips with his own lips for a longer time, “is not as platonic and guiltless as those others?”

“For once,” Raoul turned his head away from de Guiche, “those other kisses were allotted to a man who loved me as a son.”

“And, I love you as a friend,” Armand extended his free hand and cupped Raoul’s cheek, employing as little force as he could to make Raoul turn his head and look him in the eye. “Please, Raoul de Bragelonne, kiss me as a friend,” de Guiche besought an approached his face, offering his own lips like an oblation, “on your free will…”

The soft creak of that tree bark and the tremor on de Guiche’s hand denounced the struggle of that young soul yet to be touched by this dissolute world. Armand began to lose all hope on Raoul’s commitment, cursing the tutor’s iron grip from the bottom of his brazen heart, when Raoul made his advance, sleek and sure, but at the same time charmingly rushed, as if Raoul’s courage were falling at the thought and his body demanded action to give his fancy a deserving resolution. De Guiche let his free hand support Raoul’s small back as those lips touched his and Raoul let the tip of his tongue touch Armand’s upper lip before the lock shut tightly and the caress was carried out with more urge than skill. By the way he felt that kiss de Guiche appraised he was reaping the first fruits of this hallowed orchard and making the most of it while the dragon was away.

The experience overwhelmed Armand; it provided the much delightful feeling of triumph and conquest.

“Please…” Raoul muttered when he finally detached his lips, the sigh that escaped from his mouth was warm, “Please, sir… may we continue with the practice?”

“Whichever gives you more pleasure, Raoul,” de Guiche agreed and took his hands off his friend.

As soon as those words fell from his lips, Raoul’s hand darted down and closed around the hard handle below his friend’s waist and gave it a sudden tug. De Guiche gasped at such effrontery, but there was nothing he could do since Bragelonne has now his friend’s short parrying knife and his own rapier and was gaining on him with his spirits unharmed.

“Careful, M. de Bragelonne!” de Guiche exclaimed taking himself from the trees, “You have already bumped your head, don’t try to make the same favor to mine!”

“Then watch for the trees and low hanging branches!” Bragelonne advised but didn’t stop his advances.

Funny he mentioned low hanging branches; de Guiche managed to escape one with a quick turn that took them both to the open field again where they could exchange thrusts and parries for the good part of an hour. In time they had to stop, because the inclement sun drained all their forces.

Raoul smiled to his friend and offered him his handkerchief to swipe the sweat on his brow.

“I never knew you were trained in _main gauche_ , Bragelonne,” de Guiche said, wiping the sweat from his brow with Raoul’s handkerchief.

“My tutor tried, but I’m no match for him,” Olivain finally arrived with water and towels. “He can use both of his hands indistinctly”

“Here’s the water, master,” Olivain announced, like he have done a great and praiseworthy service.

“This Olivain…” Raoul said with a smile, “he always thinks of everything.”

De Guiche caught the uncomfortable expression of the servant, before he could conceal that. That water was not brought on his idea and the son of Grammont could bet on the person who saddled him with the task.

“Do you want to wash, de Guiche?”

“After you, Bragelonne.”

Raoul obeyed —he always obeyed― and squatted by the pail with those elegant movements he learned in his childhood. De Guiche recalled Raoul’s tutor moved with the same easy grace.

“You were saying that is _M. le comte_ ambidextrous” de Guiche asked while Raoul was splashing water on his childlike face.

“I bear witness of his absence of preference.”

“I can tell…”

Raoul’s eyes peeked over the towel. “It seems you are delivering more meaning than that your words can convey.”

“I just say your tutor seems like someone who is proficient in pursuing both game and fowl.”

Raoul eyed him with suspicion, as every time someone talked about the count de la Fère and it was so satisfactory to dirk Raoul’s tutor character by means of witty remarks, all in good cheer, just to see how Bragelonne’s eyebrows drop a line and how the corner of his mouth twitched, completely undecided between becoming a smile or a pout. Raoul sighed and shook his curls before letting his trembling hands conceal his confusion with the towel.

“I wonder if he tried to teach you that too.”

“You are not talking about hunting, I sense it…”

“Ah, viscount, for someone so knowledgeable in so many useful things you education has yet some atrocious gaps!”

“Don’t laugh at me…” Raoul sounded aghast and mortified as he put the towel down; de Guiche could tell by the way his lips hung as if he was struggling to conceal a sulking pout.

“I’m planning to do quite the opposite, Bragelonne, and show you how to fill such gaps with practical care …”

“Oh, please, do so, my friend!” Raoul exclaimed and put his wet hand on de Guiche’s arm before his friend could finish his lewd idea. “I’m so in sore need of guidance.”

Armand de Grammont watched that innocent face, so full of naïve trust. Raoul was fifteen, but one could only reckon the third of that age when he placed himself in hands of other human being in that candid way.

“I’ll make you a wise man, Raoul,” de Guiche promised, placing his hand over Raoul’s. “You can rest assured.”

May God help him to do so without destroying that boyish and artless candor; it was one of Bragelonne most endearing qualities.

**Author's Note:**

> 10/07/15: I take this opportunity to thank [Mordioux](http://mordioux.tumblr.com/)for this illustration. If you like it, please, show this artist some love!


End file.
